The Last Stand
by theblackwinds
Summary: Takes place in the RPD, before, during, and after the "Desperate Times" scenario. Some names were loosely taken, but I believe it to be fairly accurate. Merely trying to portray the various perspectives of the survivors in this story. R&R, and enjoy.


_Click._

He looked solemnly down at his clip. It held a grand total of seven shots; right now, he was staring down the last two he had left. The .45 rounds were more than enough to handle most things, but nobody in Raccoon City really used them. There were revolver rounds, nine millimeters, and the standard shotgun rounds, but nobody packed a handgun like Kevin Ryman: it was a custom.

_**Between a Rock and A Hard Place**_

Kevin remember Chief Irons declaring the VP70 and the Browning HP as the standard firearms for R.P.D. officers. However, some cops were allowed to spring for higher weapons. S.T.A.R.S. were all allowed, and Kevin had actually spoken to them, marveling at the .44 magnum Barry Burton tote, or the 40mm grenade launcher that Jill Valentine used on special missions. Even Chris Redfield, who only used a custom M92F, could blow holes at a hundred yards with perfect accuracy.

Kevin had worked hard and long, and eventually through Irons, was ordered a Colt 1911; however, Kevin had switched out the slide for an easier grip and improved recoil. Kevin's aim was often commented on as being equal to the legendary marksman that Redfield was, and the customized parts made the comparison all the more believable. It was an expensive buy, about half of his savings, but he considered every penny well spent. Especially now, with the whole city under siege. "Money's no good if you're dead…" he mused to himself. His funds were well placed, and he intended to buy himself one hell of a feast once he got out of here.

He looked out the window of the R.P.D. building, staring at the front gates being yanked and shoved by the few undead that could grasp the bars. There weren't many, but given his situation, he was perfectly content to sit back and wait for a plan. Marvin Branagh was busy with Rita and a few other officers, putting together the best assessment of the whole station. He had watched a few of the survivors pick at the ones attacking the gates with makeshift spears, but most of them broke after a few minutes, so the effort was eventually given up.

"We've flooded these areas with nerve gas, with these specific areas as points for humans to get out in case of being caught in it." He glanced around the table, looking at the solemn faces, taking into account their mental status. "Most of the zombies succumb to it, but there are a few undesirables that still aren't feeling it. And at the given rate, we're going to run out within a day or two. Also, given the lack of rations we have, we're going to need to get out as soon as possible."

Kevin entered the east office, looking grim due to his lack of ammunition. He hastily rummaged his desk and yanked out his emergency box of rounds, and gave it a shake. Hearing a resounding clack, he popped it open to reveal a scant three rounds. He sighed and pulled out the clip, and looked over to Marvin while he slid the rounds in. "Hey, do you have a nine mil to spare Marv? My Colt is running dry." Marvin spared him a glance, and pointed to the office behind him. "Check my desk, I think I had a spare Browning in there. I think we also have a Desert Eagle locked behind the special painting near the interrogation room, but we've lost the medal that triggers the mechanism."

Kevin mentally noted that, and pulled back the slide to load a round before he went over to Marvin's desk. "So, how's our game plan coming along?" Kevin asked cheerily, as he pulled out the drawer to reveal the precious handgun. "We're lacking a lot of options." Rita spoke grimly. "We've been cut off from Dorian, who was busy driving around escorting survivors to the outskirts of the city and arming them with what weapons we could scrounge up from the local gun shops. Our communication system was downed recently, and we still don't know if it was a monster or just human error given the hole in it." Rita shuddered, remembering the fleshless monster that crawled along the ceiling. Kevin rubbed his neck. "Well that sucks. How many officers are on site?" Marvin looked up at Fred, the communications officer. "Given our radios, I've found that about nine officers are on site; there's us four…Andy is guarding the stairs, Tony has the west lobby secure and he'll be working on blocking off the stairs later. Jean was last guarding the prisoners." Kevin's ever-present smile faded as he remembered the zombies breaking through and attacking the civilians in the garage. Jean had originally been tasked to guarding them, but her handgun jammed and the civilian panic made it impossible for her to do anything but save herself and a level-headed doctor. The survivors got lost in the area by the kennels, where the dogs were no longer "man's best friend". Jean had mopped up the zombie dogs, but only after the damage was done. "And Aaron?" Kevin knew he was doing his job with gusto somewhere.

"He was securing the rooftop and using his radio to try and signal one of our pilots in. Rick was last seen trying to crack open the weapons locker. And we haven't seen Arthur around, but he was last with Rick. He might be re-routing the gas lines so that we won't use as much." Marvin shook his head. "Things are bad as they stand Kevin, and we're running out of time. The remaining survivors are gathered in the main hall. There is, as far as I can gather: one who can shoot, who's a reporter, one doctor, a quick minded fellow who can get on my nerves…and a college student, not really cut out for this."

Kevin quickly went through their names. "Alyssa, George, Jim, and Yoko." He paused. "Any more?" Marvin paused, remembering the party they were throwing today, but then shrugged, assuming Leon would turn tail the moment he saw the mayhem. "We haven't really secured the sewers, and the gates…well…if they can open the side gate, they can get in. We've barred the main gate as best as possible, but it won't hold forever and if they keep gathering in masses. We've dealt with a huge chunk of them, but what we killed was only a fraction of the city population. " Kevin remembered seeing the explosions as he helped an old man into a van for medical treatment. He kept mumbling to himself about the horrors exceeding what he saw somewhere. Kevin just assumed he was in shock from the explosions. He gave his colt a spin, holstered it, and looked up at Marvin, beaming with his sly grin of confidence.

"Well Marvin…lets get this game plan started."


End file.
